


Forget Myself

by alwaysastorm



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Formula One, M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:25:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysastorm/pseuds/alwaysastorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in 2010 (post-Silverstone) for the LiveJournal F1 Slash Kink meme.</p>
<p>
  <i>There were other places Rob should have been... </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget Myself

There were other places Rob should have been. He should have been with his family, for a start. This was his home race, after all. One of the few chances during the season he had to spend any kind of time with them and he’d foregone it. He should have been paying them lots of attention, showing them around the Ferrari motorhome, or enjoying a family meal with everyone. But he didn’t feel like being happy, chatty Rob tonight. 

He should have been with Felipe. Going over the race privately themselves, where they could swear and rant and vent their frustrations in a way they couldn’t necessarily do in the official team de-briefs. They could have talked everything through, cleared their heads of post-race stress. But he didn’t feel like being positive, Felipe-calming Rob either.

Instead, he stood leaning at the back of the still-assembed Ferrari motorhome, arms crossed. He’d come here to watch the World Cup Final, but now was only vaguely aware of what was going on. Was it still 1-0? He glanced once or twice at Fernando, clad in his navy t-shirt and ridiculous gold and burgundy trainers. He felt the odd sting of jealousy that it wasn’t _his_ team in that final, but no sport seemed to be going his way these days.

Still in his team trousers and shirt, Rob chewed on his bottom lip as he thought about the day’s events. Oblivious to the gathering crowd of Spanish journalists and hangers-on, his mind ticked over thinking about what a fucking mess it had all been. He wondered at what point and Felipe had lost their edge, their magic... whatever it had been that had made them _them_. The qualifying that always, always seemed to go wrong in Q3, the unnecessary crashes, the small but costly mistakes that were creeping in. Again. Rob clenched his fist and banged the wall behind him gently, wanting to slam it harder, if he thought he wouldn’t be noticed. 

It wasn’t like him to still feel so pissed off after a Grand Prix. But this was Silverstone. This was HIS home race. _Do you hear that, Felipe?_ , his inner voice said. _It’s not all about YOU. I have a home race too where I want to impress. I need us to get our magic back and it needs to happen soon._

Rob thought of the Bahrains, the Spains, the Brazils, and was shocked to find the back of his eyes start to sting. He quickly rubbed them before anyone saw them glistening, feeling his stomach drop as he considered the fact that it wasn’t all about the lack of winning that hurt so fucking much – it was about he and Felipe, the loss of the way they had been. So much had changed for both of them in the past year of their lives and somewhere along the line it had turned everything on its head. No more whispers to one another in those delicious moments between parc ferme and podium, no more frantic, sweaty trysts in the motorhome before de-brief, no more achingly gorgeous nights in foreign, air-conditioned hotel rooms when all he had to do was reach out a few inches to the other side of the bed to find Felipe there, laughing, smiling, teasing. He knew it was greedy and selfish of him to crave what had been; he knew he had to let Felipe live his life now that he had a son, but for the first time Rob realised how much it hurt to let someone go. Even at his lowest moments, those first few days when Felipe was in the hospital, he’d never truly believed he would lose Felipe. Now Felipe was alive, well, racing, living – and Rob had lost him anyway.

A barrage of shouts shook him from his thoughts; Spanish babble that he didn’t understand, yet didn’t need to from the sight of Fernando jumping up and down as the final whistle blew. A Spanish flag was wrapped around his shoulders, his face shiny and red from nerves, exertion and sweat. He was shouting, and hugging his fellow Spaniards, his mechanics, his friends. Someone handed him a replica of the World Cup trophy, and he kissed it, holding it above his head as if he was on the podium and he’d just won a race. Rob caught his eye, giving him a thumbs up and heading back out into the paddock. 

It was fairly deserted, Fernando having demanded that it not be dismantled until after the football had ended. The other teams had long since packed up, and all that remained were the huge scarlet lorries that were steadily making their way around Europe, going from race to race. It was a balmy evening, just as the whole weekend had been warm. As always, Rob’s mind drifted from such random thoughts as these, to the impact it had had on the tyres, their strategy... his mind was a never-ending flurry of whirring cogs and jigsaw puzzles, trying to match the pieces together and come up with something that worked again, like it used to.

“Rob!”

He stopped, recognising the voice simply from the way the letters rolled off Fernando’s tongue. _‘Rrrrrob’_. He liked it. Fernando broke into a small run to catch up, and soon they were walking along the length of the paddock together.

“Congratulations, mate. Your team deserved it.”

Fernando nodded, his face breaking into a wide grin. Tanned skin, and white teeth smiling at him... Rob’s chest hurt a little from want; from need. The Spaniard kept smiling, looking Rob up and down, before grabbing his arm and pulling him between two of the trucks. The metal was cool as Rob’s back pressed against it. Fernando faced him, his hands either side of Rob’s shoulders, before they dropped down to his waist, encircling it.

“Fernando, what the fu...”

“Just, let me,” came the soft response. He smiled, slightly shyly, despite what he was doing. “Winning really turns me on.” His fingers sank below Rob’s belt, easing the shirt out of his trousers, letting his digits linger on Rob’s stomach briefly before opening the top button of his trousers. Rob shut his eyes, his mind full of so many thoughts he was worried they would somehow spill out of his mouth. _Fuck. FUCK. This can’t be happening. I can’t be LETTING it happen._ Fernando couldn’t be sliding his eager, probing tongue into his mouth, moaning slightly as he felt a response. He couldn’t be biting at Rob’s earlobe, beginning to pant. He couldn’t be pressing his body in even closer, their groins touching now, hard-ons straining against material and begging to be released. Rob let Fernando kiss him, finding himself responding even though... even though this wasn’t Felipe, and although Felipe hadn’t touched him like this for months, it still felt like a betrayal. 

Fernando’s hands travelled back down to Rob’s waist, finding his cock and rubbing it gently. Rob groaned as loudly as he dared, arching his hips in an attempt to get closer. Oh, to have a strong, muscular racing driver’s body against his again. Fernando was stockier than what he was used to, his skin slightly softer, but it was still golden skin and taut biceps and sculpted abs. As the kissing continued, Rob ached for Fernando’s closely shaven face to be stubblier, harsher; the way he was used to. His cock grew harder as he thought of Felipe’s cheek against his, thick stubble dragging across his face as they kissed, the thing that had always turned him on most.

“Rob...”

Those rolled letters again. Fernando had his hand firmly around Rob’s dick now, moving his fist up and down, the slapping noise unheard over the sound of their breathing. He circled the head, gripping it with his thumb and forefinger, rubbing the pre-cum around it to bring the other man to the edge. Within seconds, Rob gripped onto Fernando’s shoulder, squeezing it hard as he came.

Fernando let the cum fill his palm, before edging his hand out of Rob’s flies. Looking down breathlessly, Rob could see Fernando’s dick, rock-hard beneath his jeans. He paused, wondering if he was to reciprocate, but Fernando shook his head, pressing his mouth back onto Rob’s, slipping his cum-covered hand down the front of his trousers and beginning to masturbate. He pressed his crotch against Rob’s thigh, grinding and writhing, until Rob felt the body against his shudder and Fernando slumped against him, breathing heavily and squeezing the last juices from his cock.

“Why...”

Fernando cut Rob short, zipping himself back up.

“No-one needs to know, Rob. It was an itch that had to be scratched.”

Rob felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He plunged his hands into his pockets, watching silently as Fernando strode off into the distance. He’d gotten used to every glance, every touch, every kiss _meaning_ something. Everything he’d shared with Felipe had been loaded with longing, need, dare he say it... love. He felt stunned that he’d just been reduced to a quick fumble against a lorry.

He should definitely have been somewhere else.


End file.
